


Everyone Loves Surprises

by Livvy1800



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Clint Needs A Clue, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Secret Crush, Sorry Not Sorry, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Wooing Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6770578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livvy1800/pseuds/Livvy1800
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint starts receiving presents from an anonymous gifter, and really needs to get a clue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone Loves Surprises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tracinginthesand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracinginthesand/gifts).



> This is for Tracinginthesand, because she rocks.

 

The best thing about being a sneaking sneaky bastard is that Clint Barton always knows when other people are being sneaking sneaky bastards.

He's intuitive like that.

Ghosting one hand over the surface of his rarely used desk in his even less used office on the fifth of Stark Industries' floors in the Tower, he notes the line of dust along the blotter had been disturbed. Not much. Pushed a sliver to the left. The near invisible wire strung across the bottom of the doorway is still intact, though, which tells him this sneaky sneaker is damn good.

But it's enough for him to know someone's been there.

Well, and there's the coffee mug with the picture of canoodling baby seals on it ( _that was definitely not his_ ) which is sitting in the middle of his desk. Someone's picked the lock on his office door to leave him a ceramic mug? But not an empty one. The corner of something is sticking out of it.

"...the fuck?" With extreme caution, he leans over the desk and peers into the mug. Never knew when some shit was gonna blow up and ruin his day. But the only thing in the mug was a rectangular white and green gift card that made his heart thump joyously.

"Aw, coffee, _yes_."

Sure it's a little odd that there's no note or anything, but it wouldn't be the first time Stark or Tasha left him some sort of sorry-I-almost-got-you-dead present. Clint rubs the ribs still bruised and sore from the Doombot throw down a couple days ago and wanders off to find the nearest Starbucks, whistling cheerfully.

 

*

"No freaking way." Clint picks up the bundle of shiny new arrows from the middle of his bed, awe holding him almost speechless for about thirty seconds.

But he doesn't really do speechless, so.

"Hey FRIDAY, are these what I think they are?"

"Tha' they are, handsome. Adamantium-tipped, made from polished Siberian ironwood, 'n fletched with raven feathers."

"Raven feathers dipped in purple dye. Fucking _sweet_." Clint touches the tip of one arrow and nearly swoons with happiness when a pinprick of blood wells up on his finger. That was sexy as hell. "Did Stark have these made? They don't look techy."

"No, th' old man had nothin' to do with this."

He snorted, still amused that when Tony had built his new AI, he'd gone in a completely different direction than JARVIS. Although, come to think of it, JARVIS had been just as sassy as FRIDAY, only a little more low key about it.

"You're not going to tell me who left them, are you?"

"Not when watchin' you try to figure it out is so much more entertainin'."

He couldn't argue with that.

 

*

Clint bursts into the labs, waving a handful of tickets.

"Tony, I need to know who snuck these under my door. You _have_ to have security footage. FRIDAY won't tell me, not even when I threatened to crawl into her mainframe and stick a screwdriver in her hard drive."

"That's because she doesn't have a hard drive, you Luddite." Tony looks up from where he's going over some new suit specs with Rhodey. "Are those tickets for the Vagina Monologues? Because those were supposed to be left under Sam's door. Did I get the wrong room?"

Pausing, Clint tries to figure out if Tony's fucking with him. It's an impossible task, and he gives up almost immediately. Even when Tony is serious, he's not ever serious.

"No, they're tickets for each showing of all four Die Hard movies. Showing at the Place this weekend, some sort of "Best Christmas Movies of All Times" film fest or something." Rhodey makes a grab for them, his face lighting up, but Clint dances back out of reach. "Nuh uh, they've been sold out for weeks."

"You do know Tony could just play all of those in the common room, right?" Rhodey raises one eyebrow as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Not the same as seeing it in a theater."

"He could _buy_ a theater and run them for you."

Clint rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but he'd probably order it cleaned up and then outfit it with Stark tech and make it all glamorous and shit. It's not the same if your feet don't stick to the floor and the popcorn's not stale."

"Hey guys, right here. _Trying_ to work."

"Clint, you have no standards."

"I have standards! All low, but I have them."

"Okay, out." Tony starts shoving him toward the door, glaring at Rhodey over his shoulder. "We have work to do, real work. If you two want to debate, wait until you're off the clock."

"We're never off the clock," Clint protests, clutching his tickets close as Tony pushes him out the door of the lab.

Tony pauses, a look of consideration coming over his face. "Oh. Huh. Yeah, you're right. How about that?"

Then he yanks the door closed, yelling, "Now, beat it!" through the glass.

 

 

*

"You seriously aren't going to share?"

Darcy looks offended, both fists jammed on her hips, as she watches Clint wrap one arm around the platter of brownies.

"They're mine. Says it right there." He points to the label stuck to the plastic wrap where his name's printed out in bold black letters. "Get your own chocolate."

"I don't have any," she replies, narrowing her eyes. " _Someone_ ate it all and didn't replace it."

Oh, shit. Well. Huh.

"Okay, but only one." Clint grudgingly peels back the plastic and hands her a large square. Darcy's face lights up in a grin as she snatches it up.

"Yay brownies!"

"Yay brownies," he agrees, taking his first bite, eyes nearly rolling back into his head at the explosion of rich, moist chocolate. "Holy crap, these are... wow... I really need to track down whoever's leaving stuff for me. These are _amazing_."

Darcy looks up from where she's licking crumbs off her iPod, alert.

"What do you mean 'stuff'? More than brownies?"

"Yeah." Hoisting himself onto the kitchen counter, Clint takes another brownie. Tasha's going to make him pay for it later, when they spar. Oh God, brownies, though. "First it was a mug, with _baby animals_ on it, Darcy. But also a gift card for coffee, so I forgive them. Then some sweeeeet arrows. Tickets to watch John Maclane throw a car at a helicopter. Now chocolate orgasm brownies."

"Whoever it is, they know what you like."

They're interrupted by Bucky, who nods at them both as he makes a beeline for the fruit bowl Pepper insists stay stocked. He grabs an apple and turns, gaze lingering on the brownies. Oh, hell no. Clint likes the other man, has since the first time he met him. Bucky had just looked at him from under a tangle of messy hair and said with a sly grin, "Oh, finally. A challenge."

Steve had nearly choked to death on the bottled water he'd been drinking, but Clint wasn't worried. And he'd proved in short order, even decades of HYDRA assassin training and one badass metal arm couldn't compete with Clint. No one beats him with a bow and arrow, although they _were_ even on throwing knives. Bucky's taken it pretty well, not even breaking his arm or anything, so Clint likes him.

But sharing his brownies is going too far.

Clint tightens his grip, sliding them partially behind him in a super casual way. With a crooked smile, Bucky just tosses his apple in the air, catching it as he saunters out again, humming.

Clint breathes a little easier. If the Winter Soldier had decided he had a chocolate craving, he's pretty sure he'd have been watching his brownies leave with the other man. When it comes to arm wrestling, he's definitely the underdog.

Bucky has biceps like whoa.

It's a little distracting.

Darcy makes an impatient sound, gesturing for Clint to continue what he was saying before they were interrupted and he started picturing Bucky's arms.

"Anyway. Tasha says it isn't her, and FRIDAY assures me it's not Tony. Although, that's all she'll give me." He takes another bite, trying to focus past the sugar bliss, running down the list of possible sneaks in his head. "Could be Sam. Maybe? I think Steve would be more likely to buy me a coffee in person. With actual _conversation_. Because he's a hundred years old and doesn't know how to text like normal people."

"Agreed. Talking face to face is the worst. I'm only hanging on because you gave me chocolate." Darcy looks at the platter again with longing, but Clint narrows his eyes, so she pours herself a travel mug of coffee instead with a shrug. "The real question is why."

"Because I am fucking delightful and people like to give me gifts?"

"Or maybe another reason."

"Nice. That's why you don't get another brownie."

"You weren't going to give me one anyway!"

True. He just grins at her, making sure his teeth are full of chocolate. With a sound of disgust, Darcy flips him the bird and wanders off to find her scientists.

What she said makes him think, though.

It _is_ a little weird.

But... who complains about getting presents? Maybe it's just someone celebrating his birthday. Four months early.

 

*

His back is fucking killing him. Clint groans as he limps toward the door of his suite, focusing on just putting one foot in front of another. He wrenched some muscles while jumping from the roof of a crumbling building during their last mission. Like a damn senior citizen.

When he's able to move again without white hot agony running up his left side, he's going to murder Tony for blowing the building before he could get clear.

A large, warm hand closes over his elbow, making him jump.

"You look like shit, Barton. Aren't you a little old to be this reckless?"

He slides a baleful look sideways at Bucky, who's now taking most of his weight as he opens the door to Clint's rooms. "Yeah, well, it's not my fault. Tony got a little trigger happy. Also, fuck you. I'm, like, sixty-five years younger than you."

Bucky bares his teeth in a grin, not letting go of Clint as he steers him toward the bedroom.

"Only if you count all the times I was in cryo. Technically, I'm over ten years younger than you. Plus, there's the serum."

"Oh, blow me."

Bucky's fingers tighten their grip, and he doesn't say anything else as he forces Clint to stop next to the bed.

"Figure of speech, dude, don't get all uptight." Clint takes one look at the bed, so inviting, and balks. He's got too much shit to do first. If he lies down now, he ain't getting back up any time soon. "A nap's a nice thought, but I need to shower. I've got grit in places I don't want to think about."

"Shower can wait."

"I need to debrief with Fury."

"Debrief here first."

Clint blinks as Bucky swiftly divests him of all his clothing, down to his boxers, before he can protest again.

"Shit, Barnes, leave a guy a little dignity!" Clint grips his boxers as Bucky eyes them. The other man looks back up, his eyes dark and intense, sending a sudden shiver down Clint's neck.

Oh. _Ohhh._

Huh.

Bucky smiles slowly, his gaze travelling over Clint again. "Dignity is overrated. But if you're sure... Where's your IcyHot, old man?"

"Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll just... keep them for now," said Clint, trying to figure when this changed from a buddy just helping out to maybe something else. He jerks a thumb toward the bathroom, trying not to wince when the muscles in his back protest. "It's, uh, on the counter, I think."

Was... was Bucky Barnes _hitting_ on him?

Clint watches him move into the bathroom to look for the gel, bewildered. But sort of hot and tingley and flattered. Because while he excels at flirting, he kind of sucks at picking up on clues when it comes to actual interest in him. And if he's wrong, he'll probably get his neck snapped.

But what the fuck, YOLO, right?

Bucky comes back with the small tube in hand and points to the bed, his expression unreadable again.

"Lie down."

"What, no dinner first?" Clint smirks as he climbs onto the bed, losing the grin as his muscles scream. "Oh, fuck, shit, wow, _help_."

"Working on it," comes the gruff reply, as the bed dips with Bucky's weight. Clint shivers, arching a little as the other man's hands, cold with gel, begin to massage his back.

Magic. Bucky has magic hands. Why HYDRA would gift him with the ability to turn someone into a puddle of warm, loose muscles, Clint doesn't know. But it's happening.

Something else is happening too, down below the sheet Bucky has yanked over his lower half. Damn. Getting a boner from a massage is such a cliché. But it's not really his fault. _Magic hands_.

What else can those hands do? He should probably find out. For SHIELD. Or the security of the free world. Or something.

Clint moans as Bucky works out a particularly brutal knot, unable to keep the purr of pleasure from his voice.

"Jesus, Barton," Bucky chokes out, his hands going still where they grip Clint's hips. Rolling over, Clint looks up into his face, so close, as he hovers over him, hair hanging down in a curtain. Bucky's pupils are blown wide, black as night. He swallows as he stares down at Clint, throat working.

"I can't concentrate with you... you know."

"Making sex noises?"

Bucky closes his eyes, as if in pain.

Awww, _yeah_. This massage is about to get a hundred percent better.

Clint's smile is sly as he runs his hands up Bucky's arms, ghosting over the hard muscles locked into place as the other man holds himself rigid.

"Sorry, not sorry?"

With a hiss, Bucky slides his hand under back of Clint's head, griping him by the neck, holding him still as his mouth crashes down. Clint pushes up to meet him, thrilled when his back only protests with the slightest of twinges.

Motherfucking _magic_ hands.

Their lips tangle, Clint's breath going harsh as he tries to keep pace with the other man. Nipping, tugging, running his tongue over Bucky's bottom lip until he pulls a growl from him. Getting scraped by day old stubble, he doesn't care, doesn't want to stop. The taste of him is like vodka, heady and sharp, and making Clint's brain fuzz out in a haze of pleasure.

"It was you, wasn't it? Leaving me presents. You trying to get my attention, Barnes?" he murmurs against the larger man's mouth, finally coming back to himself. Clint tugs him down, hands slipping under the back of his shirt to stroke thick, ridged muscles.

Bucky lets him, settling his weight between Clint's legs with a sharp sigh, bracing himself not to crush the smaller man. He draws back just long enough to reply, dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

"I know what you like."

"You eavesdropping fucker," Clint says affectionately, running one hand around Bucky's side to burrow under the front of the waistband of the other man's pants. Bucky goes still, lips parting, eyes glazing over.

"Yeah." Clint bites his shoulder, loving the way Bucky shudders against him. "I really do like surprise presents."

Turns out, so does Bucky.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
